Just a Magic Trick
by Sigyn Holmes Laufeyson
Summary: John always knew Sherlock had no affinity whatsoever towards magic tricks. He just never really knew why. Until one day, someone John never imagined to possibly exist suddenly arrived in their lives. "Annika Holmes, sir, at your service," she said, letting her disguise drop off in one go as she stood in the doorway of 221B. John/OC, first Sherlock fanfic. *ON HOLD*


John always knew Sherlock had no affinity whatsoever towards magic tricks.

It wasn't something that Sherlock once learned and then chose to delete; it wasn't something that he just never bothered knowing about. Every and any time the word 'magic' came up in any way Sherlock lips would curl ever so slightly in the smallest sneer. John never thought much of it, just assumed that Sherlock likely found the idea of magic ridiculous and highly illogical. In fact, John wasn't particularly surprised when he first find out Sherlock was not fond of magic.

He was, however, incredibly surprised when he found out the real reason why.

It was an ordinary day in 221B. Well, as ordinary as a day can possibly get with Sherlock Holmes. John was working on his blog while Sherlock paced about the room in his typical fashion, restless from the lack of a case. John had paid him no mind all this time, despite Sherlock's constant low mutterings, and continued about on his laptop. At the moment he was working on putting together a new password for the device, simply because Sherlock had successfully cracked into it just last night and John was getting slightly annoyed by the fact that each and every time he logged onto his computer in the mornings, there would be some unwanted page left fully open on his screen. He may have seen a lot of things in his life (many of them due to the army and the sorts of men that were there), but that didn't mean he wanted any more of it. He was pursing his lips, trying to sort out an impersonal password when Mrs. Hudson came to the door.

"Sherlock dear, you have a visitor. This sweet lady needs your help with something." Mrs. Hudson stepped aside to reveal an elderly lady. She must've been at least 70 years-old, but she looked to be in terrible condition, which may have skewed John's assumption about her age. She was shaking terribly and looked to be in constant pain. At the sight of this, John immediately shut his laptop, set it aside, and quickly got up to help the lady into his own chair so she could rest herself.

"Oh thank you love, you're such a sweetheart," the lady said in a dry and raspy voice, lifting her trembling hand to his cheek in gratitude. She attempted a smile but was overcome with a fit of coughing.

John knelt down beside her and placed his hand on her hunched back in concern. For a moment he shifted his attention from her to Sherlock. What he saw surprised him: Sherlock did not look annoyed or falsely curious or interested in a possible case or anything of the sort. No, he looked… Ever so slightly suspicious. John had never seen Sherlock with that expression on, even when facing a possible murderer, which was why he was rather taken aback. He couldn't possibly fathom what could be suspicious about this obviously sick lady.

"Would you like a cup of tea, ma'am?" John inquired of the woman.

She shook her head softly, her coughs subsiding. "No, thank you; however a small glass of water would be lovely."

John nodded in acknowledgment and got up to get her that glass. As he walked from the chair to the kitchen he noticed Mrs. Hudson had already left. Though he wasn't sure as to why, he figured she had assumed the lady was in well enough hands and had other things to attend to. He took a clean cup from the cupboards and placed it under the tap. Before the running water had reached the top of the glass though, he heard a loud _thump_ which was then followed by Sherlock shouting, "What is it then? What do you want?!" John quickly removed the glass from the sink and rushed to the room with the drink still in hand to find Sherlock standing threateningly close to the startled and nearly-in-tears lady. A knife was plunged deep into the desk next to her. John hurried over to her side. "Sherlock," he said in protest, placing his hand on the imposing detective's chest to firmly push him away, then handed the drink to the lady with a kind "Here you are, ma'am".

"Oh, thank you," she managed to choke out with an unsuppressed sob backing her words as she reached for the glass and brought it to her lips to drink.

"Oh come off it already," Sherlock spitefully spat out, turning back towards her and then back around to face the couch as he originally was once John had pushed him away. After a split second of silence – which contained a flash of concern come across John's eyes – Sherlock whirled on the spot towards the lady and imposed upon her personal space once more. Instead of looking deep into her crying eyes with anger like he had done before though, he grabbed a hold of her upper arms and forced her out of the chair, causing her to spill her drink. He brought her a few steps away from the chair and unceremoniously dumped her onto the floor right in front of the doorway to their flat.

John was appalled by Sherlock's actions. Never before had he seen Sherlock be so astoundingly rude towards any normal person, let alone a sobbing elderly woman. "Sherlock!" he exclaimed once more, this time with a tad more volume and a firm amount of disapproval lacing the reprimand. He bent down to her level putting an arm around her shoulders, asking her softly, "Are you alright?" After a nearly imperceptible nod from her as she buried her face in her hands, he brought her into him for a gentle hug before he took her hands and helped her stand up. John gave Sherlock a deep look and demanded, "What is this all about?"

Sherlock rolled his eyes before gesticulating harshly towards the lady. "John, she's a fake. How can you not see? She's not real, she's just a trickster attempting to fool you to gain your sentiment."

John was skeptical. "Fool me?" he asked. Sherlock nodded impatiently. "Why just me? Why not you?" He half expected Sherlock to scoff with a reply that she'd have to be a fool herself in order to attempt fooling him, but the reply he got instead was, "Because she's tried fooling me before. It doesn't work."

It was with that remark that the lady ceased her crying. With her head still tucked down, she murmured softly - though loud enough for the two to hear – "And that's where you are wrong, Sherlock." John was slightly thrown off at the lack of rasp and tremor in her voice. Instead of the old and terribly-conditioned woman's voice he heard early, he heard the fullness and strength of a… Young lady? As his mind processed this, the woman slowly straightened out her back to its proper posture, ceased her incessant shaking, and lost the droop in her face. She was transforming before John's very eyes and to say he was bewildered would be an understatement. Once she straightened herself out she looked at least 20 years younger, but though eyes and voice indicated otherwise, she still looked to be an incredibly old woman. With a slight stammer John inquired, "Who are you?"

The woman then let an uncharacteristic – but oddly familiar – smirk grace her wrinkled face. With a bit of jerking with her hands she removed something off her hands. Before John could determine what they were though (_gloves, possibly?_), she reached up to her head, and with one swift move, removed all lines of wrinkles and every piece of white hair on her head. "Annika Holmes, sir, at your service," she said, letting her disguise drop off in one go as she stood in the doorway of 221B.


End file.
